


Terms and Conditions

by Andromaca



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-01 20:57:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17251277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andromaca/pseuds/Andromaca
Summary: Hank should really read the terms and conditions before checking the “accept” box, and he learns that the hard way. Literally.





	Terms and Conditions

**Author's Note:**

> first fic of 2019 beyotch
> 
> i hate this work. here, take it

_Nov_. _7th_ , _2038_

“Hey, Connor, the fuck is this?”

  
Connor’s rapid blinking stops, his LED goes back to circling a calm blue hue, as his skin reactivates and he sits up a little from his chair to take a peek at Hank’s terminal; the browser is open to Hank’s e-mail account, one of the messages open for Connor to see. He scans it quickly; the white text on the predominantly purplish background small and surprisingly mildly condescending in giving Hank Anderson a 15% discount on his next android rental.

  
“An e-mail from the Eden Club,” Connor explains, “It appears you subscribed to their newsletter, and this is their way of thanking you for doing so.”

  
“I did what now?”

  
“You subscri—” Hank interrupts him before he can go on with a glare, before speaking up himself. He heard him fine the first time, what he needs is for Connor to give some sort of explanation as to why him, of all people, is signed up to the Eden Club newsletter, though if he really had to take a wild guess he’d say that Connor got into some of his android cop hijinks and gave Hank’s e-mail address instead of his own.

  
“No, I did fucking not do that. The fuck have _you_ been doing?”

  
“Sorry, Lieutenant,” Connor begins in his weird, goofy voice, or imitation thereof, like he’s absolutely not sorry and only wishes to placate Hank at least some before he says what he’s about to say, “It seems that when last night we were at the club, neither of us noticed the little panel next to the distributor asking if you wanted to subscribe to the newsletter, and it defaulted to yes.”

  
Hank rubs a hand over his face, annoyed, as he deletes the e-mail from his inbox and sighs. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

* * *

Hank figures out how to unsubscribe from mailing lists later that night — despite his being a millennial, he’s never been particularly tech-savvy, or rather, he’s always been far from tech-savvy, even extraordinarily so.

  
So, in the grand scheme of things, it’s only right that he accepts the Eden Club website to use his cookies. Because it’s right — and probably because he deserves a bit from all the years he spent ignoring terms and conditions and none of it ever backfired, whereas now it _does_.

  
As it is, it does so in form of obnoxiously loud and flashing ads, popping up whenever he visits a website, promoting _hot_ _android_ _sex_ and _sexy_ _android_ _babes_.

  
Hank briefly ponders if he should click on the ad — one night when Sumo’s asleep and his Facebook feed is particularly dead and his clock strikes 2AM and he’s surprisingly not drunk, but solely because he’s out of booze and the nearest liquor store just isn’t near enough — _briefly_ , because within ten seconds he’s made up his mind that if there is such a thing as an appropriate time for him to give in to temptation and to check what all the android sex fuss is about, then it’s now.

  
_Well_ , Hank thinks as a website consisting, for the most part, of a black background with neon purple and fuchsia text and a handful video previews on the front page opens in a new tab, _doesn’t_ _look_   _that_   _different_ _from_ _any_ _other_ _porn_ _site._

  
His cursor skims around the categories indecisively; it’s been a while since Hank’s done any of this — watching porn, that is — but that doesn’t mean he’s a novice to what he digs and what he doesn’t, to what he likes, and there are a few keywords that catch his eye, but ultimately settles with something as generic as _anal_ _sex_. He only has to lurk a bit before he finds a video of his liking; coincidentially, the video he picks shows just two figures, a human, and an android — the android, considerably smaller than the human but not by so much that he looks any less athletic and sturdy and tall than he is, on all fours sideways from the camera, giving the spectators a perfect view of his backside and torso and a less than perfect view of his face and head; and a human, bigger and substantially chubbier than the android, that kneels behind him, with his hands gripped on the android’s hips, and slowly but surely sliding his dick inbetween the android’s ass cheeks.

  
Hank doesn’t really try to fight the growing hard-on in his pants; if anything, the possibility of the sleepiness that the post-orgasm bliss usually brings seems too delicious to pass up, when he realizes that by now it’s already half past two and that if he wants to get at least a few hours of sleep before he has to wake up and be late for his next shift at the station, then he should hurry the process along by rubbing one out and then bask in the aftershock until sleep comes on its own. As he takes his dick out of his sweatpants, he turns his attention back to the video playing on his laptop, tucks the front of his pants behind his balls to keep it from getting in the way, and enjoys the familiar feeling of his hand gliding across his flesh, the wet whispering sounds of it. It’s hard, and it leaks a copious amount of precum all over its own head, which Hank promptly ignores and ends up smearing across the whole length of his cock, making it somewhat easier to stroke it without feeling the slight burn of friction.

  
The moans coming out from the speakers are fake and exaggerated, Hank’s seen enough porn and has had enough sex in his 53 years to be able to tell when something like pleasure is staged, but there’s something harmonious to the way the android begs the human to fuck him harder, faster, or deeper, depending on what he’s feeling like yelling. The human, on the other hand, doesn’t feel as vocal, Hank notices, or notices as much as a guy with a dick in his hand and trying to get off does, but rather complies with the android’s requests, silently, bar the few quiet words of praise he mutters under his breath.

  
Hank fails to see the irony in all of this, because despite coming all over his own hand to the android screaming to be fucked with the passion only a human is capable of, the next morning he greets Connor like any other morning, chats with him and makes small talk before sitting at his desk while still not entirely sure about liking the android, without showing not even an ounce of shame for thinking of a curve in a certain someone’s lips right as his own jizz splattered over his stomach, for moaning loudly while milking himself dry while still thinking of eyes a particular hue of brown, shot open wide and looking at him through thick lashes.

* * *

 _Dec_. _18th_ , _2038_

The android revolution and what comes with it do affect him, Hank finds, with the most susbstantial changes in his life being for one his newfound sympathy for Connor’s sleeping arrangement — or arrangement for whatever it is that he does at night — at the station making him invite Connor into his home as his roommate, and another being his favorite porn site taking down most of his favorite videos due to the androids’ requests, but uploading a lot more, this time with the consent of everyone involved, they remind the viewers with loud banners on the site and short messages at the beginning of every video, in retaliation, though Hank hardly has any time to check them out when the commotion of post-revolutionary Detroit keeps him away from home, and tires him to the point that once he comes back to his bed, the only thing he can think to do on it is sleeping.

  
It becomes somewhat a routine, his go-to stress relief, for Hank to pull up his laptop on the side of his bed he doesn’t sleep on, to play any of the clips he has in his bookmarks and to stroke himself to completion, to wipe his hand on the inside of his boxers or on his sweatpants, anywhere that isn’t his own skin, really, thinking, absent-mindedly as he stares at the ceiling, that this _routine_ of his is sort of sad; or that was before Connor moved in, that is. The slightest sign of being awake like turning on the bedside lamp or getting up from the bed alerts Connor and brings him to Hank’s room, with a face of earnest confusion as to why he’s neglecting sleep. Well. Hank doesn’t really ever feel like explaining masturbation to him, or doesn’t really ever feel like being caught with his dick in his hand by his roommate, as cute and handsome and just Hank’s type he is.

  
Not being home alone doesn’t stop him, though, it didn’t when he was still with his parents and he doesn’t see why it should now. He simply realizes that he has to wait until Connor leaves Sumo be in the living room and retreats to the garage, and that he has to close his door lest _someone_ , a someone with a very foggy concept of privacy and personal space, snoops in.

  
Hank opens a few of his bookmarked videos, yet none of them really have what he’s looking for tonight. He briefly wonders if he should give up, if he should just go to bed instead, but his dick is already half hard from when he spied Connor lick bits of food off his finger in a manner so unintentionally seductive after dinner, and he realizes that at this point in his life, at this age, killing an erection like that would be downright idiotic, not to mention unreasonably cruel to himself.

  
His hand slides his boxers and sweatpants down to his midthighs to take his dick out, palms himself languidly, all the while browsing a few categories on his favorite porn site, none of which really satisfy him to the point of making up his mind and sticking with one of the videos for as long as he can hold out before coming. All the previews give the premise of some 10 minutes of fake, staged sex, lacking the genuine feel of the real deal, and Hank even browses the _amateur_ section but is still not satisfied, because perhaps the problem isn’t how the porn is shot, but perhaps the problem is the actors who star in it.

  
Discontent, as it turns out, proves to be Hank’s undoing; his treacherous mind behind it all, actually, as he gives way too little thought before moving the cursor to the search bar, and typing “ _RK800_.”

  
No results.

  
And yet the disappointment is barely felt, as Hank has no time to even type in something else before he hears the sound of footsteps hurrying down the hall, and sees his door being busted open. And he just lies there, on his bed, gripping his dick, which is somehow still rock hard despite the shock, and looks Connor in the eye before saying, “Jesus, you ever heard of knocking?”

  
Connor doesn’t reply; his eyes open abnormally wide as he asks, still standing in the doorway, “Are you sexually attracted to me, Lieutenant?”

  
Hank sighs. “I’m not having this conversation with my dick out.”

  
As he makes to adjust his sweatpants — the damage is done, though, and he’s pretty sure Connor will not _forget_ having seen his dick, and hard, no less — Hank notices Connor hasn’t moved an inch, his hand still on the door frame and the other still on the doorknob, his expression that of mild shock. “Please, answer my question,” Connor says, when Hank is decent again; if tenting his sweatpants with his erection can still be classified as _decent_ , that is.

  
“Why the fuck do you wanna know that?”

  
“You looked my model number up on a website specializing in android porn. You’re attracted to me. You wanted to see another me in sexually arousing situations,” Connor explains, calmly, “I saw that from your browser history.”

  
Hank grimaces in embarrassment. He hasn’t had anyone snooping in on his history since high school, when his parents were still trying to make sure he only consumed wholesome content during his computer hours, and he can’t say he’d missed the feeling, but he keeps some semblance of calm nonetheless — mostly because it’s hard to appear angry and pissed off when the outline of your cock is visible through your pants. “And why do you have access to that?”

  
“You gave it to me when I asked if I could connect to the WiFi. I started reading the terms and conditions to you of connecting to your WiFi, but you told me,” and Connor mimicks Hank’s voice and tone perfectly with his next sentence, “ _I_ _accept,_ _or_ _whatever_. _I_ _don’t_ _understand_ _anything_ _of_ _your_ _fucking_ _jibber_ - _jabber_ , _and_ _I_ _don’t_ _care_. _Just_ _tick_ _the_ _fucking_ _accept_ _box_ _and_ _let’s_ _get_ _on_ _with_ _this_ , _alright?_ ”

  
Well, he did bring that one on himself. But what good does it do to dwell on what he could have done different now? He could have listened to Connor that one time. He could have not shared his cookies with the Eden Club website. He could have not looked up RK800 on a fucking porn site, but that’s just how life goes; one moment you’re trying to jack off to porn of your roommate who you happen to have a slight crush on, and the other said roommate barges into your room without knocking, catches you with your dick in your fist, and asks you if you’re attracted to him, which you are, but nonetheless you try to avoid the topic as long as you can. “Are you sexually attracted to me, Hank?” Connor repeats.

  
“Do you have to say it like that?”

  
“Yes,” Connor says, “Now, please don’t be rude, and answer my question.”

  
“You come into my room while I’m jerking off and ask me if I wanna fuck you and _I’m_ rude?” Connor gives Hank a glare that says _Please_ , “Fine. Yes. I think you’re cute.”

  
Connor seems satisfied with that, then. His grip relaxes on the doorknob, and his features shift into something softer, as he steps closer to the bed where Hank is still laying on, and closes the laptop before sitting down next to it. “Thank you. I’m also attracted to you.”

  
Hank thinks this has got to be the worst time for a confession, ever, his dick still relentlessly hard in his boxers, laying on his bed, and his right hand mildly sticky still from the precum and the lube he’s gotten smeared over it, at half past one in the morning. “Cool. Now, if you don’t mind, I have some, uh. Business. To attend to,” and he points, very classy, to the general direction of his crotch, to which Connor spares a pitiful glance.

  
“I know humans enjoy intercourse better when they’re with someone they like,” Connor says, with the suggestive wiggle of eyebrows he usually gives when he makes an innuendo, “I should be able to help with that.”

  
Hank laughs. “Are you saying you wanna have sex with me?”

  
“Correct.”

  
Shifting uncomfortably on the bed, feeling a bit in the spotlight after being a little put off by Connor’s earnestness in admitting he wants to bang him, Hank fleetingly considers outright laughing in Connor’s face and hushering him out of his room to spend himself in his own hand. But his mind, ever the betrayer, immediately makes the jump from total blank to a vivid image of Connor’s pretty, plump lips wrapped around the girth of his cock, because of course, and suddenly telling him to fuck off somewhere else doesn’t seem as good an idea. “Your heart rate has increased,” Connor states, even when he knows that Hank hates being analyzed like that, “You’re aroused.”

  
Jesus, okay.

  
“Alright,” Hank relents, because he’s a weak man, weak to puppy eyes and weak to a pretty boy admitting he’s into him, “Come over here. You done this before?”

  
Connor’s left leg slides over Hank to his right side, making Connor effectively straddle him and push his ass against Hank’s clothed dick involuntarily — Hank’s gasp is sharp at the slight simulation. “No, but I learn fast.”

  
I bet. Hank thinks that but doesn’t say it, as his fingers slide over Connor’s torso to clutch the hem of his pajama shirt, gently lifting it up and taking it off, throwing it to the side; it’s hard to distract himself from the delicious pink hue of his perfectly shaped nipples then, as Hank rolls them both in his fingers until Connor grips his wrist with a sigh and pushes his hands lower towards his pajama pants. “There are matters more pressing than teasing,” is all the explanation he gives before he grinds down on Hank’s erection, now back to full hardness after flagging a bit with the shock of being caught.

  
Real androids, Hank finds, are not _completely_ different from the androids in his videos, only some.

  
First of all, Connor responds beautifully to every single one of the stimuli Hank provides, be it a slight touch to the tip of his pretty, pink cock, or the grip on his perky, little ass being slightly more forceful than absolutely necessary. Secondly, Hank doesn’t know where Connor even learnt that, but he’s a good kisser. No, scratch that — Hank, in his 53 years on Earth, has never kissed anyone who kissed as passionately and full of emotion the way Connor does.

  
But what really makes it for Hank, is when his finger slides between his cheeks, and some drops of viscous liquid fall on his lower stomach, and before he can open his mouth to inquire, Connor is already explaining. “I self lubricate.”

  
Hank wonders why he was ever hesitant to have sex with him, when it’s like a dream come true. His dick slides right in Connor’s ass, the only help coming from Hank’s hand keeping it upright for Connor to sit on, until he’s in to the base and Connor’s thighs quiver at his sides.

  
Getting Connor to move proves much harder; his LED circles red one, two, three, four beats before it settles on a steady yellow, and his eyes close as he draws in a shaky, simulated breath. “You okay?” Hank asks, genuinely worried Connor’s not enjoying this as much as he is enjoying himself.

  
“Yes,” Connor answers without missing a beat, “I will start moving now.”

  
Connor bounces on Hank’s dick like it doesn’t tire him out at all, which is probably true, considering androids don’t feel fatigue, but it’s still a sight to behold as he relentlessly pounds himself, his own hand circling and pulling his nipple, and his back arching like he’s never quite felt something like this before; Hank is mesmerized, unsure if he really is a part of all this or is just a spectator to the show Connor’s giving him. He dares a touch to Connor’s mouth, thick fingers probing at his lips for Connor to open them, lick them like Hank’s seen him lick his own a million times before — albeit in entirely different situations and environments, which he isn’t particularly keen on thinking about during sex.

  
What he does think about is Connor’s little gasps of pleasure, his shaken expression with every thrust, the synthetic tears forming at the corner of his eyes — Connor, Connor, Connor. Hank couldn’t distract himself if he tried, a fog clouds his thoughts and only makes him see clearly about the matter at hand, unable to even consider thinking about anything that isn’t the intoxicating way Connor has about himself as he bounces particularly hard to give a long moan, static-y at the edges, because if Hank ever said this can compare to any of the nameless and faceless androids that have kept him company for the last few weeks, he’d be a fool and a liar.

  
Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t take Hank long to come, what with the way Connor’s muscles clench deliciously around his cock when he’s so close; and as he’s not wearing protection, Connor shudders at the feeling of Hank’s come flooding his internal components with warmth, his own dick twitching with pleasure and spending on Hank’s stomach.

  
“Jesus Christ,” Hank says, breathless, “That was good.”

  
Connor shifts to a laying position, taking care to move Hank’s laptop to the bedside table lest either of them involuntarily breaks it, and lays his head tenderly on Hank’s shoulder, his hand coming up to draw circles on his pectorals. “Would you like to take a survey on my performance?”

  
Hank shoots him a nasty side-eye, then, still riding high on the pleasurable aftershocks of orgasm, “Are you for fucking real?”

  
“Just a joke, Lieutenant,” Connor chuckles lightly.

**Author's Note:**

> if you want to talk to me, i’m on twitter at @cuteroboboy, and i love making new friends and talking about dbh. so hit me up!


End file.
